Archive for December 2008

So I’m off down south shortly to my parents for Christmas. I haven’t finished packing up, tidying the Guinea Pigs or eaten yet today, but I’ll get there eventually. I just wanted to take a quick break to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

I’m not feeling especially festive. I was very low yesterday and don’t feel much better today, but I’ll get myself through the next few days. I have little choice. I can’t really be bothered by it all, but I guess I just need to put up with it. Will be glad when it is all over though really.

Take care everyone. Please stay safe and I hope you enjoy the festive break! xx

I have an appointment to see my GP later. I don’t really know why I am going. I originally made the appointment to sort out medication, but then realised I needed to get the prescription last week before my All I Can Eat Certificate expired. I managed to get that sorted out by asking one of the other doctors to do the repeat and adjust my dosage (as requested by Dr G). This means the main impetus for seeing Dr. N is gone. I do need another sick note as I forgot to get one last time I saw him and my current one is out of date, but that’s not all that important. I don’t want to feel like I am wasting his time, yet I still want to see him. Considering I’d do anything to avoid doctors appointments in the past it’s funny that today I want to go and I don’t really have a reason to be there. Yes, I am actually ill, but there’s not much he can do. It’s probably as useful as going to the doctors with a cold. I feel like I am not worthy of his time.

I don’t really know what to say. I’ve been shaky over the past few days and up and down. I was very restless and agitated on Saturday morning. My partner battled with me to try and get me to sit still and calm down, but the more he tried, the more I found myself resisting. I was giggly and unable to stay still. I just wanted to be on the go and doing things. I didn’t want to stop, as my mind was racing. This was short-lived and by evening I felt very drained. I was very low in the evening and felt withdrawn. This mood continued on Sunday, although I was a little better by afternoon. We visited my relatives (Grandma and Aunts), which was weird, as they still do not know about my illness. White lies about work were necessary to keep up the illusion and I hate it. I know I should tell them, but I don’t know where to start. This side of the family are not known for their sympathy towards depression.

So, what do I say to my GP? I wonder if I should just cancel, but I find myself not wanting to. I want to see him, although I don’t know why. I wonder if he can just give me a bit of moral support. I think I need some encouragement to get me through the next few days. I’m tired and fed up of this endless depression. I am frustrated about treatment. I think I need someone sensible to convince me things will change, although I don’t know how much use he will be. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know where to start.

My Quetiapine (Seroquel) dosage is going up to 400mg. It seems like a lot for someone who is being prescribed off-label and doesn’t have a diagnostic label to match, but nevermind. I saw my consultant again today. It was better than recent visits, perhaps because she has changed something rather than just asking me to wait and be patient, but it is still difficult. I go into my appointments shaking. I seem to lose my tongue and forget what I wanted or needed to say. I forgot to bring up the fact my eyesight has been bad lately and I am still not able to drive, despite knowing I had to. I will have to try and catch her at some point before the Christmas break, but I do not know if she will be in on Friday. She often takes it off.

Anyway, the other revelation of today is that I am being referred for one-to-one therapy at last. I am apprehensive, as I do not know what I am expected to use the therapy for. A few weeks ago, one-to-ones were discussed and it was decided that I wasn’t well enough yet and didn’t really have any key issues that were going to be possible to tackle in one-to-ones. Since then, nothing seems to have changed. I have no idea what I should talk about. I go into group sessions and have no idea what to tackle each week, but I can’t ask for the spotlight to skip to the next person in one-to-ones. I still do not have any answers or even the right questions. I just don’t know where to start. I am lost in this quagmire of shifting moods and negative thoughts. I am still struggling to see much further ahead than the next few hours and I’m still uncertain of what the future brings. I am still depressed more often than anything else and I am still frustrated and agitated. I feel like I am staring at brick walls in all directions and I don’t know which way to turn or how to break through them. I am glad that I am being referred to the therapist that I did my life maps with. I trust her and she seems to understand my frustration and confusion. She understands that I feel trapped in this limbo, not knowing where my diagnosis lies or how to fix the problem. The only problem with this is, I also know she doesn’t know how to fix the problem, so I am unsure of how much use an hour a week with her will be.

I am scared of therapy. It can bring up more things than it solves and it is hard work. I know I need to put the work in if I want to get better and I can’t just wait for medication to do it’s magic, but it is still daunting. Therapy seems to just drag up all these things and makes you question everything. It leaves you sitting in a mess of confusion and not knowing where to start or how to solve it. I don’t know where to begin untying all the mess.

I think most of all I am left feeling frustrated. I am worried that treatment will never work. I only feel that I am more and more confused and the fact that I am doing all the things I am told I need to do to get better and it is not making any bloody difference only adds to the desperation I feel. WHY AM I NOT BETTER!?! IS IT ALL MY FAULT?! WHEN WILL IT BLOODY WORK?!?!!!! WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?! ARRGHHHGHGHGHGHGH!!!

Reading back over my last post, I’m struck by the hopefulness of it. I didn’t think I felt especially hopeful when I was writing it, but that is the sense I feel looking back. At the time, I thought I was going through the motions, self-censoring my words to make it seem like I was hopeful. I had it in my mind that I would not return from London. I had it in my mind that I had to present that I was okay and going to be safe down there for my partner’s sake, but deep down knew I’d be battling against the safety measures that I had put in place.

As you can see, I have returned from London, so maybe my hopefulness was genuine? Maybe I realised that I would overcome my suicidal wishes and survive the weekend? I don’t know. My hope is as fleeting as my moods.

It was touch and go at times. On Sunday night, I genuinely thought I would not return. I had a clear plan in mind and was preparing myself for it. I was on the edge. I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to die. I got scared by my mind and the clarity of it and forced myself to take double sleepers to knock myself out. I think they worked. By morning, I woke feeling less certain of my plan and keen to get home. I felt mildly optimistic and even, dare I say it, happy?

How can one’s perspective on things change so quickly? I don’t know if I am coming or going. I don’t know if I am full of hope or hopeless.

My weekend, overall, was good. My mood was unstable, as is the usual, but I did enjoy Saturday night. Lots of alcohol and lots of dancing and I was okay. Moments of withdrawal and sadness descended if I stopped to breathe, but I kept them at bay with a relentless performance of “coping”. I tried to live in the moment, something we are continually preached about at The Priory. It was enough to keep me going and even enough to let me smile a little and actually believe in it and mean it.

Sunday was a slow one and much harder. I didn’t have an alcohol hangover, but a mood one was definitely apparent. We didn’t do much. Stayed in the flat most of the day and went for food in the evening. There was no pressure and with that, I could manage. I had to battle against the thoughts in my head, but without any need for a performance, I could concentrate on that and concentrate on the moment. It was okay.

Last week I didn’t see past the weekend. I didn’t expect to see today. A friend of mine said to me on Friday, life is like driving in the dark. You can only see as far as your headlights allow you, but you know that if you keep going you will see a little further and if you keep going like that you can go all the way. I think that is how I’m living life at the moment. I can’t see very far. I don’t really want to see very far, but I am still getting through each little bit. I just hope that my headlamps don’t go out any time soon or the fog doesn’t get any worse. I’m still struggling and I hate it.

My mood dropped again yesterday. I was at The Priory and although Art was reasonably relaxing, Support was uncomfortable. I was agitated, unable to stay still and the conversation was irrelevant to me for most of the session. I sat and tried to listen, but all I could think about was my unrealised plans from the weekend. When it was eventually my turn to speak, I unleashed my frustration at my mood. My frustration at the speed in which it twists and turns. I did not know what else to say and neither did anyone else. Their depression is explained by divorce, family issues or work stress. Mine is explained by nothing. By faulty brain chemicals or a disordered personality? I do not know and I still don’t have any answers. I am fed up of it.

I don’t know what else to say anymore. On Sunday, I had lost all hope. On Monday, it returned. Yesterday, it was wavering. Today, I do not know.

I’m traveling down to London this weekend for a friend’s birthday. I’m sat in the first class lounge waiting for my train at the moment. I am glad I booked a first class ticket. It’s far more civilised than cattle class.

I’m a little apprehensive. I had to promise I would keep myself safe this weekend and although I said I would, I don’t know if I can 100% guarantee that. I hate that I can’t promise and know for sure, hand on heart, that I will be safe. There is no guarantee that I won’t flip out and do something impulsive, but I’m hoping I won’t. I know I am putting myself in a situation where the temptation could be there, but I know I need to face it. My nurse on the ward would talk about empowerment and how I have to face it. I know that I’ve been okay up to now since I left the ward and I just have to keep it up, but this is my first weekend away on my own, so I hope it goes okay.

I looked at my thoughts around this in my CBT group this morning and it was helpful. The therapists worked with me to come up with some ideas and plans to put in place to make myself safer. I just wish I didn’t have to do that. I resent it. I did find the session helpful this morning. I just wish there wasn’t this negative commentary in my head counteracting every rational and sensible thought I have and making me want to rebel against the safety measures. I’m going to try and help myself. I really am, but I have to fight to stop my mind from undermining me.

The weekend should be enjoyable. I hope my depression doesn’t make that impossible. I will be staying with good friends and we have fun things planned. I just hope I can feel the enjoyment and not be too negative.

There are a few pitfalls I have to avoid. Tomorrow, I will see a lot of my work colleagues that do not know that I am ill and have been on sick leave for six months. They will be asking questions of me. What client have I been working on? Why wasn’t I at the last conference? etc. and I will need to respond. I think most of them are fine and I will probably be honest with them, but it still might be a bit weird. I certainly don’t want to bring the atmosphere down and talk about my illness when we should all be partying, but then I will have to give my justification for being very careful on the drink front. Just one or two makes me drunk on these meds and I know it does nothing for my mood, so I need to be careful.

I hate this illness. I hate how it means every situation needs thinking about. The risks need to be considered. I have to think about how I am going to keep myself safe. I wonder if I will enjoy things, when usually there would be no question. I worry about the consequences of things. I have to think about what would be best. I resent having to keep myself safe. I hate the fact that I don’t 100% trust myself. I hate that my partner doesn’t trust me and worries about me. I hate that my friends feel they need to keep an eye on me. I don’t want to be a burden and someone that needs to be looked after. I don’t want to think about these things.

I should be back on Monday.

From next week my therapy days change. I will be going Tuesdays and Fridays as opposed to Monday, Wednesday, Friday. There is an extra day to face, but I know I just have to do it.

As Chouette pointed out, it is no secret that I met up with her, Kate, Colouredmind and Eccedentesiat this weekend. It was good to attach real people to the blogs and stories that I read. I enjoyed the meet, however brief for me, but am conscious I was talking far too much. It is a trait that comes from nervousness and agitation, but one I struggle to keep under control. Thanks though. I hope we can do it again.

It was great to just chat about everything and anything. Although we all know how it feels to suffer at the hands of mental illness, it was good that we could be “normal” and talk about other things too. We all know what it is to be students and to live in the city that we met. We all have a life aside from this. I think it is good for all of us to remember that. My partner thinks that I have become too wrapped up in being ill and that I shouldn’t spend all my time with “depressed friends”, but I think doing just that has helped me to remember the other side of life.

That said, I also appreciated being with people that know how it feels. I agree with both Hannah and Chou that we have all lost much to this illness. I too, have a list of wishes and a collection of regrets. I too, wish I didn’t have to take medication to live and sleep, wish I could find enjoyment in things and wish I could erase many things from my memory. I wish I didn’t have to spend days in therapy. I wish I could drive without being a risk to myself or others. I wish I could spend time alone without someone worrying about me. I wish I could turn off the negative thoughts that infiltrate my mind. I wish I could return to the career that I loved and not head straight for a nervous breakdown. I wish I could get on with life and want to live.

I have all these big wishes, but it was weird. The thing that struck me most from Hannah’s post, was the line:

I want to wear my hair parting on the otherside and not have scars to hide underneath my hair

I too wish for this. Worse, I wish I could part my hair anywhere and not show the scars of a lifetime of destruction. This is something I am so ashamed of, yet I still continue to wreak havoc. I have scratched my scalp to the point of bleeding and picked at every scar, every single night, for as long as I can remember. My hair no longer grows in the worst places. Elsewhere, it grows in tufts, as it tries to recover from the abuse. I cannot get a haircut, for fear of what the hairdresser might say when they see the mess that is my head. I am deeply embarrassed by it. My scalp constantly hurts and itches and I can feel the blood in my hair. I hate it, yet I am unable to stop. It is a compulsive act of nervousness, a compulsive act of self-destruction, a compulsive act of distraction. It is worse than ever at the moment. I lie awake at night and give in to the urge to hurt myself., leaving blood on my pillow. I sit in therapy and find my hands wandering. I hope no one notices, but fear that they do. I stand at the mirror and look at the scars. Most of the time I don’t even realise I am doing it, but I am painfully aware of the consequences. I wish that I could stop. I wish that wish was enough and I’d have the willpower. I know that I don’t. It is another one of those wishes, but I think it’s another one that is hopeless.

Yesterday I saw my consultant. I didn’t know what to say to her. I said that I’ve been frustrated that I feel no better. I said that the insomnia has returned. Her only answer was sleeping pills, Phenergan (Promethazine) again. I tried it on the ward and don’t think it helped, but it’s all I can try. I refuse to take Zopiclone, Promazine had no effect on me and Trazodone gave me all the silliness and uncoordination of drinking five pints, then left me with the hangover to match. Diazepam is off limits outside of the ward, as she doesn’t want to leave me with a nice addiction at the end of it all. She looked through her bible of psychotropic drugs at the sleep disorder pages, but didn’t find any other suggestions. Only Mirtazapine, which she discounted with a shake of the head. She went through the sleep hygiene list with me, but she knew better than to push that one. Admittedly, the fact I only had an hour or two’s sleep at most last night, was probably exacerbated by the diet coke I’d been drinking, but nevermind. Anyway, I have a note to give Dr N on Thursday, so my green slip will have the new one on the end.

Back to Dr G. She wants to put up my venlafaxine, but is scared of the consequences. The constant background agitation of the past few weeks makes that seem like a bad idea. She wants to put up my quetiapine, but is scared of the consequences of that too. My chronic apathy and considerable numbness are the issue here. Instead, she has done neither and left me in limbo-land with meds that don’t seem to help. I am fed up of the medi-go-round. I just want them to work. She is waiting and hoping that they kick in soon, but I’ve been on these for over 7 weeks now. Surely if they were going to work, they would be by now? Maybe I need to have more faith. How is the placebo effect going to work if I don’t believe in them? It’s still frustrating though.

She seems to think the way forward for me is therapy though. She isn’t holding out too much hope on the meds front. I wish I had as much faith as she does that splodging some paint around, talking about my life story, or getting annoyed at CBT will do anything to help me. It may be a short term distraction, help me to be more honest with myself and others about how I feel and give me a chance to think about stuff, but at the end of the day I still feel like crap and still battle day in day out with the intrusive thoughts. I don’t know how much “working through my issues” I can take and where it is going to leave me ending up.

I am chronically frustrated with this chronic depression. When will things change? I keep ending up in the same place. I keep waiting for things to improve. I am fed up. I feel like screaming it.